Miles From Death
by deartrisaratops
Summary: A young man wrecked with guilt when not able to save his father. Will she tell the man the truth, that he actually died as well as his father. That it was not an accident?


"It was my fault he died," kneeling beside the old leather coach he spoke in a voice barely audible. Pushing his fingers across the seam of a cushion he hunched his shoulders, making his conditioned frame into a curve. With his head bent over the leather, the young man took a shaky breath and pulled away, trying to bring himself back up to his normal 6'2 stature. Despite all the strength and stability his body shape gave off it was in vain. His behavior made it appear as though he was moments away from breaking down.

He brushed a limp hand through his hair, exposing dark eyes. Though they were brown naturally they appeared like cold black stones as light from the fireplace etched across his milky skin. He tilted his head as if listening to someone talk that only he could hear. But she saw no one else from her position behind the door. She never could.

A minute passed slowly, the fire crackling, regaining strength as it grew to fresh wood. The young man was in tattered, filthy clothing, his fists clenched against the edge of the couch. Streams of moisture lined his eyes and she felt her body ache at the wave of emotional vulnerability that was increasingly making him more and more lost within himself. Behind the door she tensed as she peered closer, holding her breath.

"You don't understand. I sa-saw him fall," the boy stuttered over himself. "I could have stopped it. If I had been fast enough I could have caught his arm. If I was just a few minutes faster….if I didn't take my time with the horse…he wouldn't have fallen over. He wouldn't have hit those rocks!" He finished exasperated from the lack of air and tried to catch his breath. She stood quite still, taken back from how weak the young man had become. He had seen his father die and was blaming it on himself. Something was not right…

He ran his hands over his eyes as if to rid himself of some horrible image tattooed in his mind.

"I could have saved him. He wasn't his time," his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper, "It wasn't his time."

For a moment it seemed as though the young man would break to pieces on the leather couch. And yet, time passed and he soon slowly released a low, achy sigh, standing with unnerving strength. Shaking the hair from his face he appeared resolute, of what she could only guess. The fireplace continued to sputter with life as the young man look in its direction. A flash of calm etched his face that faded as he turned away from the couch and walked a few feet before he flickered away with the bursts of light from the flames.

She stood there as some time passed before blinking her eyes. Pushing the door back she made her way into the dimly lit room then towards the large leather couch. As she touched it she thought that if she tried hard enough, he would hear her words.

"You died four years before your father's fall off Farhenhale's Cliff. There was nothing you could have done. I don't know why but you don't remember dieing and now you have this…this half existence. Please, listen to me Ethan. I can't watch over you anymore. I don't know how much longer you can take of this. Maybe if…," she looked into the fireplace, "Ethan, I have to tell you how you died….maybe then you can move on….reconcile your thoughts. If only you would listen. If only you could listen."

Her head hung down in a position that looked like she was praying. Actually it was an attempt to gather strength for his death. Perhaps she would be able to tell him. Except once she explained it she was sure there was no chance he would continue to stay. That scared her more than watching the young man continue to linger in and out of existence, suffering as his past tormented him. She stared into her hands. If she kept it away from him then he would not pass. However, the worn look in his face would continue to build from the pain of his guilt and torment. Her hands clenched the edge of the couch for support.


End file.
